It's All Been Wept Over Before
by aghamora
Summary: Quinn wants Beth to have a part of Finn, too. - - Oneshot.


"Ms. Corcoran?"

She pulls her comfortably soft pink robe around her tightly, grabbing the sleeves with all the power in her hands, until her knuckles shake and pale at the pressure. She's quite a sorry sight, and she knows it, yet…there are more important matters at hand...and one of them is resting peacefully in Shelby's arms; tiny eyes shutting out the world as she escapes into an infant's precious dreamland.

She had thought that her heart has already been broken into pieces, but now, looking at little Beth, _her baby_…She swears that some evil force is breaking those poor pieces even further and then dipping them in guilt, _burning _and _unbearable_ guilt, and then, just to torment her, putting them back together, giving her a false heart, and then restarting the process once more. The end result isn't _her_ heart, but some cold, foreign organ pumping blood through her just to maintain her miserable, shattered existence. It is almost a fate worse than death; an infinite cycle…and she doesn't see how it can ever end.

Ms. Corcoran's head snaps Quinn's way, and the nurse she was previously talking to looks up as well, both surprised to notice her presence. She knows that, technically, Beth is no longer hers, and maybe she shouldn't be here… but she has to make sure of one last thing before her child's pure presence leaves this hospital and goes out into the world as a new, innocent soul free of every negative quality a human can possess.

Once she leaves this hospital, things are final. Quinn will still have some time to change her mind, after that, but she's pretty sure that once they leave this place, she just _can't_ change her mind.

She can't. She can see, right now, that Shelby's already fallen in love with her. And she can't rip her away, because she knows what it feels like to have the one you love cruelly ripped away from you, leaving your heart beating uselessly out in your hands… and she would never wish that on anyone.

She just has one, final request to make.

"Excuse us," she tells the nurse, flashing the woman a smile as she turns to Quinn. The blonde longs to be her, to be the one softly cradling the beloved bundle in her arms, pouring all her love on the sleeping child.

"Ms. Corcoran…I, uh…H-have you picked a middle name out for her yet?" Shelby's eyes fall down to Beth, examining her little, crinkled, pink face, and she shakes her head.

"No. I was just going to get to that, though. Do you have any suggestions?"

"It's all right if you want to choose the middle name yourself-" She stutters uncertainly. She bites her lip as she fingers the outside of her robe, her hand trembling worse than an unsteady building during an earthquake.

"No," her smile is one of a timid, frightened new mother who is terrified because babies don't come with instruction manuals – especially instructions on how to deal with the child's biological parents, "I'd like to hear some of your suggestions, Quinn."

Her smile is kind, but Quinn feels like she's lost the ability to recognize kindness, so she doesn't smile back.

"I…" she draws a deep breath, oxygen filling her lungs, all her courage leaving her at that instant, "I don't know if Rachel told you…or anything…but…I had a boyfriend before I slept with Puck. His name's Finn-"

"Finn…I remember… Rachel told me about him." Shelby nods comprehension at her words.

"But, uh…I slept with Puck while we were dating, and when I got pregnant…I told Finn that the baby was his…and we lived together for a couple months…after my mom and dad kicked me out," Quinn closes her eyes for a moment, for she doesn't like telling her sob story of her difficult life as a pregnant teen. Some might assume that she just wants to elicit pity from them, and she would never be able to tell them that that is the opposite of true.

Pity is worse than disgust, worse than being thrown out of your house and humiliated.

Quinn can't remember her night with Puck very well, and she can't remember yesterday very well either, but she can recall her time at Finn's house in a moment's notice if something prompts her mind to do so. Sometimes, the recollections make her smile, and sometimes, it feels like her mind is out to get her with memories, until she can't take it any more, until she thinks she'll crack.

Sometimes she thinks that she's already cracked.

"Then…Rachel found out, and she told Finn, and I left Finn's house and went to live with Puck." She says the words as hurriedly as she can, because she can see the beginnings of a frown pull down at Shelby's mouth at the mention of her daughter's intrusion on Quinn's personal life, "I-I don't blame Rachel, Ms. Corcoran. She was brave enough to do what I wasn't…and I kind of admire her for it…" The laugh that escapes her mouth is devoid of humor – and any other emotion, for that matter.

"But…while we were dating, Finn suggested a name…Drizzle. I thought it was stupid, you know…at first…But, looking back, it's… not all that stupid. So…I was wondering…I-if you could-" Her sentences choppy with hesitation, she gnaws on her bottom lip hard enough to cause pain, but not hard enough to break the skin and draw blood.

She wants the pain, _needs_ the pain. A small amount of suffering usually takes her mind off the core of her gloom: the fact that she's giving Beth up.

"…Make her middle name Drizzle?" Shelby finishes for her knowingly.

Beth opens her eyes suddenly, and yawns, her tiny mouth opening and sucking in air without a sound, almost as if responding to the word. It melts Quinn's heart, those little movements.

It's all a miracle. She can't believe that Beth was once smaller than a jellybean, without movement, without eyes or ears or _anything_. She was just a mass of cells, and Quinn can't help but marvel at what she's become.

It _hurts_ to marvel at what she's giving up.

Quinn can feel a lump in her throat welling up and blocking her voice, so she nods to avoid having to open her mouth and speak.

Unshed tears turn Shelby and Beth into big blobs of color in Quinn's eyes, and she thinks about how soon this moment will become merely a memory, a painful thought to try to avoid thinking, because it will bring back an unwanted deluge of scenes from the past.

Shelby turns and picks up the pen that the nurse had been holding only minutes ago. The writing utensil is still warm from the other's woman's touch, when she had written down her baby's first name. The young girl stands on her tiptoes just in time to see her finish writing the second 'z' on the certificate commemorating her baby's birth. Quinn keeps one hand idle at her side, and the other grasping the side of her pink robe with every ounce of power left in her body.

If she lets go, she thinks that she might change her mind about her daughter's middle name, instead just telling Shelby to choose something that has no significance to her and Finn. It's almost as if the pink garment is a stress ball, and she's grasping so hard that she's letting all her urges and feelings and emotions go, the intangible yearning flowing out of her, slowly but surely.

She wants her daughter to have a piece of the guy who should have been her father.

Shelby shows Quinn the certificate, and it makes her smile as she sees the name neatly scrawled on it in irreversible jet-black ink. The letters pop out from the page, and everything else on the paper doesn't mean much to Quinn. It's the name; the name that has so much significance to her, that jumps out of the page and draws all her attention to it.

It's final.

"T-thank you," she chokes out. A sorrowful smile etches itself onto her features, and she clears her throat as she walks away, trying to rid herself of the blockage in her throat that tearfully chokes off her voice.

"I think you still love him," Shelby has to raise her voice a little so Quinn will hear her. The blonde girl turns around, smiles the fake smile she's long since perfected, and nods in agreement.

Her pretend smile only lasts until she gets back into her room; then she breaks into tears.

* * *

She is released from the hospital days later - perfectly healthy with only deep, dark stretch marks as reminders of Beth - and she returns to school after a week passes by, after she thinks she's recovered enough from the physically and emotionally painful experience at the hospital.

She walks in the hallways with a copy of Beth's birth certificate pressed in her palm; the document folded neatly, all creases smoothed out. It's there for a purpose, a reason, and nothing will stop her from doing what she knows she must do.

Shelby has the original, but she was given a copy as well, and now, she needs someone else to have a copy of the document announcing to the world little Beth's arrival. Someone who means just as much to her as Beth does. Someone who she knows still loves her, Rachel or no Rachel.

_Someone who was going to be Beth's dad._

Finn's rummaging through his locker when she walks up to him, and he only tears his eyes from his belongings when she clears her throat in order to obtain his attention.

Her hands become sweaty, and she grips the paper more forcefully, as if dropping it will call destruction upon the certificate.

"Oh hey-" She stops him by taking his hand and placing the cream-colored paper into it, her initial movements quick and swift. But, she closes his hand around it gradually, drawing out the moment for a few seconds longer than needed, as their hands make contact. As their skin meets, as her little hand grasps his larger one, she loses the urge to be speedy about what she's doing.

She looks him in the eyes, and she knows that he doesn't understand why her hand is lingering on his. To an extent, she doesn't, either. There's a million reasons it shouldn't still be there, hanging on tenderly, unwilling to let go, and there is only one it should: she can feel a gravitational pull between them.

Quinn adjusts the strap on her book bag after she fully lets go of the paper and painfully rips her hand away from his, and she doesn't even give him time to speak before she walks away, her white dress swishing around her ankles with every graceful step she takes; steps that carry her farther and farther away from Finn. Yet, each step does nothing to lessen the strong pull she feels.

When she's at the end of the hall, she looks back at him, and she sees a genuine grin creep onto his face, lighting up his appearance, as he knows that, even though Quinn's daughter does not have his blood running through her veins, she has his name; the name that Quinn has only recently realized the significance of.

_Beth Drizzle Corcoran._

Her name is more than just a name; it means something. It wasn't decided upon because '_oh, it sounds pretty,'_ or _'oh, it's the name of a deceased relative.'_ It means more than that, because she has a piece of the two guys who, even if she may never know, were and _are_ very much a part of her life, in a considerable way.

Maybe her daughter will never know why her name is important. Maybe she will go through life wondering why the hell her mother gave her a weird middle name like Drizzle, and maybe she'll despise the name Beth because it's sort of old-fashioned and lame by today's standards. She won't remember when Finn suggested Drizzle as a name, and she won't remember when Puck sang to her, but she was there, safely developing in Quinn's stomach, even if she won't be able to recall it.

She heard it all. She experienced it all. But the memories will evade her; just as sure as thunder follows lightning.

It hurts her more than a little to think that there's _no chance_ she'll remember. It hurts _a lot_, with a constant stabbing at her chest and a voice persistently whispering 'what if's' in her ear. It hurts every time she sees Puck look at her, nearly dead behind the eyes, his mind tormented with thoughts of his few short hours with his daughter. It hurts every time she looks at Finn…and he looks away.

It may hurt now, but terrible, awful pain never lasts forever, and, in a year… or two years… the stabbing will have calmed into a dull ache. The dull ache of her lost daughter will last forever, a yearning never to be fulfilled, a thirst never to be quenched, and she's sure that, years from now, she'll be glad that she gave her a piece of both Puck and Finn…

Even if Beth may never know.


End file.
